


Wish You All The Best

by FoxGlade



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 09:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17118752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxGlade/pseuds/FoxGlade
Summary: “This is gonna sound like a stupid question,” Ben says suddenly, “but what year is it?”Well, Ben has said stupider things. “2018,” Sammy answers. Ben looks to Jack, who looks to Emily, who narrows her mouth into a thin line.“That’s… maybe a problem,” she says.(The Christmas magic of King Falls strikes again, giving Sammy a firsthand account of his own future.)





	Wish You All The Best

**Author's Note:**

> SURPRISE, my mental block has dissipated which means two fics in one week!! and a christmas one no less!! i'd say im competing with helloearthlings but we're basically best friends by this point. no competition, only love and support!!
> 
> things that inspired this fic: the latest arc of taz amnesty, [this sufjan stevens christmas album](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLX68ZEYlh74t81rRCh2-oMSYUENChlpHr), award-winning 2016 film kimi no na wa, helloearthlings recent fic [A Stranger Sometimes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084744), and the general concept of sammy stevens getting to live a happy and fulfilling life
> 
> (warnings for some mentions of suicidal ideation, but no more than in canon. and yes, this takes place in the same 'verse as my other ot4 fics, but they're not necessary reading. happy holidays folks!!)

The first flakes are slow, just specs above his dashboard. Sammy curses anyway - he’s late to the Christmas tree lighting in town, absolutely because he’d spent half the day worrying and pacing and debating whether or not to even go. He and Ben had celebrated Hanukkah quietly earlier in the month, just the two of them, and honestly that had taken it out of Sammy. So why he’s even bothering to come to this thing…

No, he knows exactly why he’s driving at inadvisable speeds towards the town centre. Because Ben had left him a voicemail, sounding sweet and hopeful, saying, “I’d really like it if you came, Sammy, and so would Emily, and Troy! He really misses you…”

So here he is, cursing the snow that’s really starting to come down now - like, really starting to come down, enough that--

His whole windscreen turns white, and he frantically applies the brakes. It doesn’t feel like the car is responding, and for a second it’s like the engine isn’t even running. The complete silence is overwhelming, deafening.

And then the moment stops. The windscreen clears, and he can see the road, perfectly clear ahead, with the engine rumbling as the car idles. “What the hell,” Sammy grumbles to himself, but everything seems fine, so he’s fine with chalking it up to more unexplained King Falls weather phenomena and getting on his way.

At least the lights haven't been turned on yet - the tree is visible from the packed parking lot and just as dark as it has been for a week. Sammy carefully pulls his car between a badly parked SUV and a neat little hybrid, neither of which he recognises. 

There are a couple of faces he doesn't recognise once he starts wandering through the crowd, too, but he chalks that up to his half year absence from public life. For all he knows, entire droves of people could have moved into town while he was catatonic on Ben's couch. Their couch. The plural possessive still doesn't come naturally to him, after more than three years alone.

But he shakes off that thought and slouches through the masses, trying to give a friendly nod to anyone he recognises and generally act like he doesn't already regret leaving the house.

Troy, when he spots him, doesn't let him off with just a nod. “Heya, Sammy,” he says, bright and enthusiastic like nothing is out of place. Sammy finds himself smiling without effort. “Good to see ya, but I gotta split, Loretta's been callin’. And speakin’ of, Ben was tryin' to find you, so I'll catch you at Christmas lunch, aight? Take care.” With that, he claps Sammy on the shoulder and leaves him floundering behind.

“Wh- Christmas?” he calls after Troy, but only gets the mindless noise of the townspeople in response. Ben hadn't said anything about Christmas plans, let alone a  _ lunch.  _

It's while he's still puzzling over this that he finally finds the face he's looking for. “Ben,” he calls out, half-raising his hand to wave, but Ben's eyes meet his through a gang of teenagers loitering by the stage. Ben waves back frantically, and after a few seconds of maneuvering he stands in front of Sammy, beaming and practically vibrating with energy as usual, but up close he looks… different.

His hair is longer than it was this morning, for one, with part of it done up at the back and the rest falling in chin-length ringlets, almost like the man-bun look Sammy usually sports, but obviously styled rather than just lazily tied back. His face is almost sharper in a way, too, no longer babyish, although his smile is still the same. 

Oh, and the literal baby he's holding in his arms like a pro. That's certainly different.

“Ben,” is all he can get out before Ben is pushing the baby into his arms, spiking his heart rate as he tries desperately to remember how a person even holds one of these things. 

“Awesome, I thought you were gonna be way later, did you bring her extra bottle? Emily had to go supervise the middle school choir, Ms. Reynolds drank way too much nog and had to go puke behind the tree line, I texted but I think you might've already been driving. Anyway, just keep her happy, I have to go check the feedback for like, two seconds, tops.”

“Ben,” Sammy repeats, louder this time. Ben looks at him expectantly. “What the fuck is happening?”

“It's just a line check, dude,” Ben says with bemusement. Sammy shakes his head.

“No, I - Ben, who's baby is this?” he asks. The baby gurgles and he tenses warily. If this thing pisses on him…

Ben is rolling his eyes, completely at ease with all of this, apparently. “Okay, so she's mine and Emily's kid when she needs a diaper change, but yours and Jack's when she makes some sounds that  _ might  _ be words? I still don't think ‘baba’ counts as a first word, by the way.”

Sammy pretty much stopped listening after Jack's name had come out of Ben's mouth, but the rest of his sentence hits him in a dull kind of way. Sammy is pretty intimately familiar with the sensation of shock by this point, and this isn't it, but it's pretty fucking close. “What?” he manages, and this time he must sounds pretty bad, because Ben finally stops and  _ looks  _ at him.

“Hey, you don't… did something happen?” he asks. He reaches up and checks Sammy's forehead, resting the back of his hand there, and then moving it to cup Sammy's cheek. Bewildered, Sammy stays quiet. “You don't feel warm, I don't think? My hands are fucking freezing anyway. Was there an accident on the road or something? Jack said something was weird about the weather, but--”

“Why do you keep talking about Jack,” Sammy says, voice flat. Ben frowns.

“What do you mean? Did you guys fight? You guys were fine when--”

“Why do you keep talking about my missing fiance like he's here,” Sammy says through gritted teeth, finally slapping Ben's hand off his face. He barely agreed to come to this stupid thing and now Ben is pulling some weird and pretty fucking cruel prank that he can't even guess the purpose of, and he's  _ still holding this unknown baby. _

Ben looks beyond alarmed now, probably realising his prank hasn't worked for whatever ridiculous purpose he'd planned. “Sammy, you… Come with me.”

He takes the baby back, so that's something, but he hooks his other arm around Sammy's elbow and drags him along, brushing between townspeople until they reach the screen that separates stage from backstage. He pushes Sammy around it and--

Jack Wright is kneeling on the sodden grass, a miniature soundboard propped on one knee as he pries the back open with a screwdriver to get at the wiring, screws in his mouth and a determined look in his eyes. It's been almost four years since Sammy last saw him, and he looks different, like Ben, but he looks so  _ similar  _ that Sammy's breath catches in his chest and stays there until his whole body aches.

“Jack, a little help here,” Ben says, keeping his iron grip on Sammy's elbow. Jack looks up and smiles brightly at them, although it falters at whatever Sammy's face is doing right now. 

“Did something happen?” he asks, just like Ben. Quickly he levers himself onto his feet, soundboard forgotten, reaching Sammy in a few long strides, and just like Ben he reaches out to touch Sammy's face in concern. “Was there an--”

The second Jack's skin meets his, Sammy breaks. The breath rushes out of him, and then back in with a heaving sob, and he collapses into Jack, burying his face in his chest and gasping in something like relief when he feels Jack embrace him, strong and familiar arms wrapping him up. He's hugged and cuddled Ben a lot recently, and Emily and Troy and Mary all give him brief hugs when they see him, but nobody's ever been able to make him feel completely  _ safe  _ like Jack does. Something about the way his tall frame allows him to tuck Sammy's head under his chin, and how his hands always find the points of knotted stress in Sammy's spine… 

He's crying like he hasn't since the night the radio tower was destroyed, and Jack just keeps making those dumb soothing noises he does, rubbing his back firmly like it's five years ago and this whole thing has just been a nightmare, like they're in their bed in their house in LA and neither of them had ever heard of King Falls.

But the illusion is ruined when another hand is placed on his back and he hears Ben say, quietly, “I’m going to get Emily, just - stay here.” He can’t hear footsteps on the wet grass, but he can always tell when Ben leaves a room, anyway. There’s a certain presence that vanishes, like a light turning off.

Jack lets go slowly, not pushing him away, but Sammy knows he has to loosen his clenched fist grip on Jack’s shirt eventually. He pulls his face out of Jack’s chest and looks up into his fiance’s face.

He’d thought Jack looked different before, but like with Ben, it’s more noticeable close up. His dark brown eyes have a weird hazy quality to them, almost like cataracts, but they meet Sammy’s easily. His hair is longer, too, standing up far taller than the one inch twists he’d had through their radio days. There’s lines at the corner of his eyes, too, but there’s lines on Sammy’s face, too, and even with these differences he’s so familiar it hurts to look at him.

Jack pushes Sammy’s hair behind his ear, and Sammy catches his hand, holding it too tightly, but Jack just smiles, although it’s set in a worried expression.

“Something happened on the road, huh,” he says, his sweet voice gentle, and Sammy chokes out a laugh as everything clicks into place.

“Yeah,” he croaks. He clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, I… yeah. But I’m here.”

In the sudden whiteout, blinded by the swirling snow, his car must have plowed off the road and straight into a tree. It must have been quick - he can’t remember any noises or sudden pains, and he’s stupidly glad that at least he didn’t have time to think, or time to regret.

“You’re here, you’re safe,” Jack says, and pulls him back into a hug. Sammy lets himself melt into it, ashamed at the relief flowing through him. He’d fought so hard to stay alive, these past months, and to have that struggle disappear in an instant is an overwhelming relief as much as it is a desperate sadness. If he gets to be here with Jack, feeling this way again, then it has to a good thing, but just imagining Ben’s face when he hears…

Wait.

“Hang on,” Sammy says, extricating himself from Jack’s arms. Jack looks at him with an easy smile. “If I’m dead, why is Ben here? He isn’t - I mean, I just saw him… he can’t be…”

He’d called not five minutes before Sammy had gotten in his car, and unless the same snowstorm that had gotten Sammy had somehow reached the centre of town and flash-frozen the crowds there… which isn’t outside the realm of possibility in King fucking Falls, now that he thinks about it…

“Sammy, slow down,” Jack says quietly. He takes their linked hands and puts them both on his chest, breathing deep and slow. “Just take some breaths with me, okay?”

This, too, is familiar in a way he hasn’t had in years. His chest aches, but he makes an effort to get control over his shallow breathing, just focussing on that until they’re breathing in tandem. Finally, Jack nods and lowers their hands, but keeps a comfortingly tight grasp. 

“Come on, let’s sit down,” he says, and leads Sammy to the edge of the stage where there are plastic lawn chairs scattered haphazardly. He plants Sammy in one and then scoots the other around so that they’re sitting facing one another, knees touching. 

“You’re not dead,” he starts, voice low and even. Sammy finds his eyes slipping shut automatically. “You got into some trouble on the road and it freaked you out, and you had a panic attack. Maybe some dissociation. But you’re not dead, and neither is anyone else. You’re okay, and I’m okay, and so are Ben and Emily and Bebe, and everyone else. It’s all okay.”

Sammy nods along, letting his heart rate slow further from the panic he’d been engulfed in before. The words almost wash over him without sinking in, but the last few words snag his attention. His eyes snap open and he looks up at Jack’s calm face.

“Who’s Bebe?” he asks. The calm expression breaks into shocks. Sammy leans back in his chair. “Jack, if I’m not dead, why are you  _ here?  _ What is going  _ on _ , because I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Where else would I be?” Jack asks warily, and Sammy throws his hands up in disbelief.

“In the fucking  _ void,  _ Jack!” he yells. Now Jack leans back in his chair, too, physically taken aback by his words. “Where you’ve been since I let you disappear four fucking years ago! Where I tried to get you from seven months ago and failed to do so because it wouldn’t--” 

Words fail him again and he slumps back, drained. He can feel tears building behind his eyes and angrily rubs at them. 

Jack is silent for a long moment, and Sammy feels a touch at his knee. “Sammy,” Jack starts, but is interrupted.

“Hey, we’re back,” Ben calls. Sammy rolls his head to look at him and sees him jogging towards them, trailed by Emily, who’s holding the unknown baby.

Sammy doesn’t know what he expected, but Emily doesn’t actually look that different. As seems par for the course, her hair is longer and held in braids, not loose around her shoulders, but everything about her seems generally the same, and right now Sammy could weep (again) for that small bit of mercy at the hands of whatever is doing this to him.

“Hi,” he says, and is barely surprised when Ben drags a chair over and does a complicated move that ends with his legs slung over the back of it and his torso lying in Sammy’s lap. Jack doesn’t even react, and Sammy smiles tentatively at that. He’d always hoped they’d get along, similar as they are.

Emily also brings a chair over, carefully with the baby in one arm, and sits as close on Sammy’s other side as she physically can. The baby coos and reaches a chubby fist for Sammy, and Sammy hesitantly reaches back, bopping the fist with a finger. The baby grabs a hold and giggles, and - huh. It’s been a long, long time since Sammy’s been around a baby, not since he was younger than ten years old, but the warmth growing in his chest feels almost like deja vu. 

Jack makes a gesture and Emily rearranges the baby in her arms, handing it over to Jack, who puts it carefully on Ben’s chest, keeping her steady until Ben wraps a protective hand around her back.

Sammy stares at the baby. The baby stares back, and then, incredibly slowly, blows a spit bubble.

“This is Bebe,” Jack says, in the same quiet, even tone. “Elizabeth, actually, after Betty, but we call her Bebe. She’s seven months old, and she’s Emily and Ben’s daughter, but she’s our kid too. We’ve been raising her together. Do you remember?”

Sammy just keeps staring at the baby, mind blank. Eventually he stammers, “We… how is…” Helplessly he looks at Emily. “You were pregnant?  _ When?” _

Emily just pulls an incredulous face. “Sammy, what’s going on?” she asks, and like it’s a secret signal between the three of them, she reaches out and puts her hand on his temple, just for a few seconds. He’s sure her and Ben haven’t been this eager to touch his face before, even in the last few months…

“This is gonna sound like a stupid question,” Ben says suddenly, looking away from Bebe for a second to meet Sammy’s eyes, “but what year is it?”

Well, Ben has said stupider things. “2018,” Sammy answers. Ben looks to Jack, who looks to Emily, who narrows her mouth into a thin line.

“That’s… maybe a problem,” she says.

  
  


Okay, so Sammy’s heard stupider things, and probably crazier things, but he can’t really think of them at this exact second.

“2023,” he repeats. Jack gives him an encouraging smile. “No, I - sorry, but how do you expect me to…”

“I mean, it’s the truth, so there’s that,” Ben says. He’s still lying in Sammy’s lap and seems only mildly interested in taking this seriously, instead focussing his attention on lifting Bebe’s hands over her head and wiggling them around. “But if you can find another explanation that makes more sense, feel free to go for that.”

“I’m still on the fence about being dead,” Sammy mutters. Instantly Ben looks up at him with a frown, and Emily leans in to put a hand over his. 

“You’re not dead, Sammy,” she says firmly. “If you were dead, that would mean all of us were too, and I’m not planning on that any time soon. So cross that one off.”

“Samesies,” Ben says, and grabs Sammy’s other wrist, pulling it over until his hand is resting on Ben’s heart. Even through the thick sweater he’s wearing, Sammy can feel the rapid beating of his heart. “Totally not dead. And I’m pretty sure you don’t believe in heaven anyway, which is totally what this would be if you were dead. Which you’re not.”

“I mean, you just said ‘samesies’, so it might be hell,” Sammy mutters, but the point is proven. Even if a perfect afterlife exists, he has no hope of getting into it, and this would be a very weird opening conversation for the afterlife, anyway. “But it could be… I don’t know, some sort of hallucination.”

“Pretty vivid for a hallucination,” Jack points out.

“Or a spell,” Sammy retorts. “Gwendolyn put me through that musical bullshit the Christmas before last, I do  _ not  _ put it past her to torment me again with some happy ending fantasy. Probably hopes I’ll wake up and be so fucked up I’ll just…”

He doesn’t want to finish the thought, so he sighs and looks down at his hand, resting on Ben’s chest. It doesn’t look different, he doesn’t think. He doesn’t look noticeable older, or different like the others. He’s still just… him.

“2018,” Emily says quietly. “That’s the year…”

Clearly she doesn’t want to finish the thought either. She rubs her thumb along his hand, and Ben threads his fingers through Sammy’s, and Jack puts his hand on Sammy’s knee, and none of them say anything. 

Bebe has no such reluctance. She babbles something incoherent, flapping her fists up and down in complaint until Ben hushes her again, murmuring nonsense until she’s soothed. He releases Sammy’s hand to go back to playing with hers, raising them and lowering them, then moving them in circles so her whole body wiggles and she squeals with delight.

Sammy can’t help smiling at her sheer happiness, and he touches a finger to her silky soft hair, twisting her little curls. She has Ben’s hair, and maybe his nose, and definitely his enthusiasm for life, and he may not have known her name five minutes previously, but she looks in his direction now and makes a loud “baba!” noise, and he thinks he might love her, just a little.

Ben is giving him a look like he does sometimes, usually right after Sammy says something dumb and right before he tells Sammy he loves him, but he doesn’t say anything. He just maneuvers Bebe on his chest and worms his way upright, then hands Bebe over to Sammy, carefully and slowly placing her in his arms. 

She watches him with bright brown eyes. “Hey, Bebe,” Sammy murmurs, voice a little rough. She babbles and blows another spit bubble. Sammy laughs and gently wipes it away, saying, “Got a lot to say, huh? Should’ve known exactly who’s kid you are.”   
Bebe squeals again, mashing her fists together like she’s trying to clap. When he looks up, all he sees is Jack, face painted with adoration and wonder, the same way he’d looked after their first kiss, and their first night together, and when Sammy had told him,  _ yes.  _

They’d talked about kids, a long time ago. They’d both wanted them, but Jack had wanted them as part of a plan, a certainty, while Sammy had wanted them in the abstract, still in disbelief that they were even getting married, let alone hopefully starting a family together. He’d never really believed that it could be something they would get to have.

He’s still not sure if he believes this isn’t all some sort of dying vision, the last few snatches of brain activity before he dies wrapped around a tree on the way into town. But even if it is, he can’t not be grateful for getting to experience this, just once.

“We’re really raising her?” he asks unthinkingly. He’s still mesmerised by Bebe’s miniscule fingers, the way they clench and unclench for no particular reason.

“Well, we’re helping too,” Emily teases. He gives her a sheepish smile and she leans her head on his shoulder, also watching the baby wiggle around. “But we couldn’t do it without you two.”

“And we wouldn’t want to,” Ben adds. As if mirroring Emily, he leans against Jack’s side, burrowing into his side and grinning across at Sammy. “We all promised we were in this together, better or worse, right?”

“Better or worse?” Sammy echoes. “What, are we all married now?”

“Well,” Ben hedges, but freezes before Sammy can even think that through. “No, wait. If this is your future, we shouldn’t be talking about this stuff. Sammy, how did you get here? If this is a magic thing, it could be that you can’t leave until you touch something, or go to a certain spot, or - or learn a moral lesson? Probably not that.”

Unconsciously Sammy’s hands clench, and Bebe makes a noise of discomfort. He instantly lets go and strokes her hair until she giggles again. “Do I,” he starts, then clears his throat against the lump in it. “Do I have to go back?”

They can tell him all he likes that this is five years in the future and he doesn’t belong, but it all seems so  _ right  _ that leaving feels like willingly walking back outside into a tornado. Sure they all look different, and Bebe certainly doesn’t exist where he’s from, but this is his family. This is his two best friends and his fiance, all of them acting as close as he’d ever dared dream they might be, if he ever got Jack back, and this is  _ Jack.  _ How can they ask him to leave someone he’s still so far from finding again?

His distress must be pretty obvious, because Emily starts rubbing his arm in soothing motions. “I think you do,” she says, and she sounds so sad that tears spring back into Sammy’s eyes. He doesn’t try to hide them. “I wish you could stay, Sammy, I wish you could be happy here with us, but… we have our own Sammy here. And I’m not an expert, but I don’t think timelines work like that.”

“They don’t,” Ben says, equally unhappily. Jack puts an arm around him and sighs. 

“I get what we’re asking you to do,” he says after a long pause. “It sucks, it’s horrible, and I know… I know you don’t wanna be there, the time you were in. But I swear to you, Sammy,” and here he leans in, eyes intense, “it’s going to be okay. Eventually, maybe sooner than you’d think, you’re gonna be happy, and everything is gonna fall into place. You’re gonna have all of this,” he says, gesturing in a way that encompasses himself, Ben, Emily and Bebe, “and it’ll all be worth it. But there’s no shortcuts, babe. It fucking sucks, but you have to earn it.”

He’s right, Sammy knows he’s right, but he still wants to scream and cling to whatever life this is, because how can he go back to that? To a life he’s barely living, to a place that seems to actively want him miserable, to somewhere Jack isn’t?

Ben shifts against Jack’s shoulder and attempts a smile, his eyes bright, just like Bebe’s.

How can Sammy not go back to a life where Ben is counting on him every day to make an effort and see each day through? To a place that he and Ben are slowly building together, a place that’s  _ theirs _ , with possessive plurals attached to everything?

This Ben looks steadier, like someone who knows their place in life, but suddenly Sammy misses his Ben with a fierceness that surprises him. He thinks about not seeing that particular baby-face under a mop of curls, somehow still surprised and grateful for the same meal of overnight oats every morning. 

Slowly he nods. “Yeah,” he rasps, then clears his throat a final time. “Okay. It was a snowstorm. It came out of nowhere and covered my windscreen. If something happened, it was because of that.”

Jack nods, sadness lingering in his eyes. “Okay,” he echoes. “Maybe if you drive back out along that route, the conditions will repeat. It’s all I’ve got, honestly, time travel is somehow not a thing I thought we’d have to deal with.”

Sammy huffs a laugh. “Figures I’d bring you the one thing you didn’t prepare for,” he says. Jack smirks.

“You keep me on my toes, yeah,” he says. He starts to say something else, but Bebe interrupts with a long string of babble, punctuated by an impressive raspberry.

“She likes to have the last word,” Emily laughs, and then there are quiet footsteps in the grass.

Troy peeks his head around the screen designating the backstage, looking them all over with a warm smile. “Y’all alright back here?” he asks. Jack gives a thumbs up.

“Super dooper, super trouper,” he calls back, and Troy shakes his head.

“Never gets old,” he chuckles. “Takin’ a moment, huh? How’s little Betty?”

Bebe gives a long cry and another raspberry.

“I think she said she’s super, too,” Emily stage whispers. Sammy snorts. Troy just coos over her for a second before straightening up into a proper Sheriff’s pose.

“Now don’t tarry, lovebirds, we got a tree lightin’ to get to,” he warns. “Two minutes and you’re on, Ben.” He gives a little salute and then he’s gone again. 

Ben stands up and stretches, sighing as his back cracks loudly, making Sammy wince.

“You’re a grown adult with a baby, and you’re still doing that shit,” he says. Ben just winks.

“Something to look forward to,” he promises. Everyone else starts standing and gathering around, so Sammy gets up as well, cradling Bebe in close. She’s finally settling down, it seems, because she puts her head on his chest and closes her eyes, though her fists still clench and unclench in some unknown rythm.

He’s still staring at her with something that might be wonder when Ben steps over to his side. When Sammy looks up, Ben gives him an uncertain smile. 

“Stay for the Christmas tree lighting?” he asks. He puts a hand on Sammy’s arm, warm through Sammy’s sweatshirt. “It’s going to be really nice.”

Sammy nods, and then Ben is leaving, walking backwards for a few steps before he can tear his eyes away and scurry towards the stage. Sammy watches him go until slips an arm around his waist and says, “C’mon, let’s get some good seats.”

He and Emily lead Sammy out into the main park area, where the crowds have gone from milling around to milling in a somewhat organised fashion in front of the stage. But there’s a gap near the side that Jack hurries to fill, bringing Sammy with him and leaving Emily to grab hold of Sammy’s sleeve lest she be left behind.

She’s still muffling a giggle when the stage lights go up and Ben steps onto stage. “Welcome, King Falls!” he says, all enthusiasm and energy, and the crowd applauds. Jack whistles loudly and Ben laughs into the microphone. “Hey, save it for the tree! It’s what we’re all here for, to see this beautiful thing that the lovely people of this town have worked on for the past few weeks. But before we light this baby, real quick, I just wanted to say something.

“As you all probably know, this has been a big year for me. My family’s a little bigger now,” some scattered cheers, including Emily’s, “and as a lot of you know, that can be tough. But this is the season to be grateful for the people around you, and so I just wanna say… thank you, Sammy.”

They’re on the edge of the crowd, out of the light, but Ben’s eyes find him like there’s a spotlight, and Sammy suddenly feels pinned. But in a loving way, like waking up on the couch only to find Ben’s fallen asleep on him halfway through the movie. 

“Pretty much everything good in my life is because of you, or things you’ve helped me achieve,” Ben continues, his whole face glowing in a way unrelated to the stage lights. “And I don’t know if I say it enough, but… thank you, Sammy. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, and I wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you.”

The crowd applauds politely, but Sammy is frozen in place. He thinks he’s smiling, maybe, but all he can focus on is the way Ben looks at the ground, embarrassed maybe, before pulling in a breath and standing up taller, meeting his eyes again before he says, “Alright, enough sappy stuff. Let’s count this thing down!”

The townspeople obligingly count down from five, but Sammy can’t get the words out of his throat. Bebe is a heavy, comforting weight on his chest, and Emily’s hand is soft on his arm, and Jack’s arms hasn’t left his waist, and Ben looks directly at him even as the tree lights go up spectacularly, garnering  _ oohs  _ and  _ ahhs  _ from the good folk of King Falls. Sammy hardly sees them - he has more important things to focus on.

  
  


The parking lot is still full of cars, but in their little corner, the place is deserted.

“Good luck,” Emily offers. She’s taken Bebe back, and the baby is babbling again, occasionally reaching out for Sammy but mostly just fascinated with her mother’s ears. That at least explain the tied-back hair.

“I’ll do my best,” Sammy replies, which isn’t exactly what she’d meant, but she smiles and nods anyway. Sammy knows she gets it. She steps forward and hugs him, gently with the baby between them, and when she retreats, Sammy grabs Bebe’s fist gently.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, choked up again. Bebe giggles and baps his fingers.

“Baba,” she says happily, then stuffs her own fist in her mouth.

Ben barely gives him time to turn around, already throwing his arms around Sammy’s neck the second he looks away from Emily. Sammy hugs him back and tries to breathe calmly, willing his fingers not to just keep holding on until the sun comes up, or maybe until the end of time itself.

He wins the battle and lets Ben go, although his hands ache to do it. Ben cups his cheek in one hand like before, and this time Sammy puts his hand over it. Ben beams tearily.

“I’ll be waiting when you get back,” he promises. “I mean, not me, but like, me. You know.”

“I know,” Sammy says, and steps back. Just one more to go.

It hurts to even look at Jack, knowing what he’s going back to, but Jack runs a hand soothingly over his back as they embrace. “It’s not forever,” he says into Sammy’s ear, and Sammy nods, not knowing what else to do. When Jack pulls away, he hesitates only for a second before he leans back in and kisses Sammy, as gently as he ever has. 

Sammy doesn’t sob into his mouth, but it’s a close thing. This too is familiar, heartbreakingly so, and Sammy clings to him for just a few more seconds he breaks the kiss, needing the space to breathe.

“I…” he starts, and his voice cracks. “I’ll see you again.”

Jack nods. “You’ll see me again,” he echoes and smiles, a bright thing despite the tears in his eyes. “Take care, Sammy.”

The four of them stand on the edge of the curb while Sammy pulls out of the parking lot, and stand there until they disappear in the rearview mirror. Sammy is still glancing backwards when the white flurry of snowflakes floods his windscreen once more.

  
  


The tree is lit up and visible from the parking lot when Sammy carefully pulls his car between a badly parked Volkswagen and a neat little hatchback, both of which he’s seen around town before.

“Sammy!” a voice calls before he’s even gotten out of the driver’s seat, and by the time he’s closing the door, Ben is already upon him. “You missed the tree lighting, dude,” he says, disappointed warring with pleased surprised on his face. “I thought you’d just stay home, and like, that’s okay, but--”

He’s cut off as Sammy hugs him, putting his face in Ben’s neck and squeezing his ribs maybe a bit too hard. “Okay,” Ben wheezes, and pats Sammy’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Sammy, I’m not mad.”

“I know,” Sammy says. Ben slowly hugs him back.

“Did something happen?” Ben asks, still out of breath but obviously concerned. “Are you okay?”

Sammy hesitates, not budging from the hug. “There was this… this freak snowstorm. I must have spun out or something, but I woke up on the side of the road…”

Something had happened, he’s sure, but he thinks it was a result of the crash - there’s a blurry image in his head, some sense of a dream, maybe. But it’s slipping away with every second.

“Oh, shit,” and then Ben is pulling back, frantically searching his face. “Did you hit your head? God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think - come on, let’s just go home, I told Emily and Troy to meet us back there for drinks anyway.”

“That sounds good,” Sammy says, and it really, genuinely does. Maybe it’s shock, but all he wants to do is be around the people he loves right now. 

They take Ben’s car, with the promise that they’ll come back and collect Sammy’s tomorrow. Sammy rests his head on the window and watches the snowflakes zip by.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ben asks. Sammy hums.

“I’m gonna be,” he murmurs, and it feels familiar. 


End file.
